


The ways to pick

by Squeakerblue



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Beta by Locktea, Bingo, Gen, Horses, Preslash if you squint, the & means friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28996893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeakerblue/pseuds/Squeakerblue
Summary: Picking something means many things.Written for the first BiKM BingoPrompt: Pick
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Roach
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Bard Bingo- BIKM Bingo





	The ways to pick

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the amazing locktea

“Stop picking at it!” Geralt scolded as Eskel picked at the scab on his knee from a tumble during sparring. “It’s gonna scar if you do.” 

“It itches!” Eskel whined, catching the edge of the scab and tugging. 

Geralt reached over and slapped his hand away from his knee then landed a firm slap on the scabbed knee.

“Ow!” 

“Stopped itching didn’t it?” Geralt grumbled. “Mama says… said picking at scabs makes scars worse. Don’t do it.”

“Fine.”

* * *

“Geralt?” Eskel peeked around the doorway where Vesemir had said Geralt was recovering from his second round of mutations. “You awake?”   


  
“Yeah.” 

Eskel saw a covered lump on the bed and smiled, then started to enter the room.

  
  
“NO! Go away, Eskel. I… Please, go away.”

  
  
Eskel frowned, he wasn’t about to leave his best friend to suffer alone. He slipped through the door, closing it behind him, eyeing the basin of water and the tall pitcher beside it, and the small, full tub in the corner. 

“Can’t make it down to the hot springs? I couldn’t either.”

  
  
“Eskel, leave.”

  
  
“Not on your life.” He reached for the blanket and pulled, meeting resistance and tugged harder, finally pulling the cloth away from the curled boy beneath it. Matted, grayish hair was revealed and bloodshot golden eyes met his own. 

“I’m a freak.” Geralt said, curling tighter into himself. He wore only a tattered pair of braies

“No, you stink. Come on, let's get you cleaned up.” Eskel refused to react to the changes in his friend. Gone was the baby fat that had rounded out Geralt’s cheeks, they were nearly gaunt now. His warm chestnut hair was a dirty gray, but Eskel would bet it would be white, once all the filth was washed out. Golden eyes like his instead of the bright green they had been.

He held out a hand and Geralt uncurled slightly, reaching a shaky, thin hand out to take it. Eskel easily shouldered Geralt’s weight and hauled him to the tub, stripping him down and hitting the water with a carefully constructed Igni.

He’d had time to practice while Geralt underwent the second round of mutations, and there had been a month between the first and second as well, so he was well versed in the fire cantrip. The water was steaming and Geralt hissed then moaned as the heat sunk into him as he was lowered into the bath. 

Eskel dug through the drawers in the room until he found a pair of wooden combs, one with a long thin pick in place of the handle. He snatched them up and returned to the tub, grabbing the soap and starting to scrub his still weak friend. Brother in arms. Partner. He wasn’t sure what the term was now. 

He picked up the pitcher, dipped it in the water and leaned Geralt forward, dumping the water over Geralt’s head. Black and gray filth streaked across Geralt’s skin, but Eskel didn’t react, just scooped up more water and did it again until the other boy's hair was soaked. He picked up the soap and started lathering it up. 

He felt almost clinical about doing this, but Geralt didn’t need comfort and care right now, he needed as close to normal as he could get, for Eskel to not make a big deal out of everything, just help him get clean. In days to come, they’d sneak down to the hot springs and both of them would cry softly, near silently over their lost humanity, mourning themselves.

Eskel scrubbed at Geralt’s hair, running his fingers through it, picking apart knots and snarls and the occasional mat with the pick handled comb. It took three scrubbings before Geralt’s hair shone white instead of dingy gray, and Eskel was pleased. It was far easier to scrub the rest of Geralt’s body down. 

Once clean, Eskel hauled Geralt out the tub and wrapped him in a threadbare towel, then stripped the bedding and replaced it with the spares in the chests before helping Geralt into the bed and curling up with him. Geralt clung close, shivering and leeching warmth from Eskel. That was fine, Eskel had plenty of heat to spare.

* * *

  
  


Geralt stood in the horse fields, watching all of the mares and their foals run around and play in the tall green grass. He looked over at Eskel, who was petting a tall black colt who’d approached him. He’d already named the colt. “Scorpion. The Stablemaster told me when he was just a few days old a scorpion stung him on the muzzle and he smashed the thing flat.”

Gascaden had a brown filly following him around, and Gweld had a feisty little gray colt nipping at his heels.

Geralt looked at Vesemir. “What if none of them pick me?”

“Then you’ll wait for the next crop. No Witcher leaves the keep without a Witcher Horse, don’t worry, you’ll find one. Stop hugging the fence, get out there and let them see you.”

Geralt sighed but strode away from the fence, towards the large herd of mares and foals. Several looked up and dropped their heads again to keep grazing, a few turned their rumps towards him in clear warning and he gave them a wide berth. 

No foal or mare approached him and he wandered all the way towards the shallow river that provided the water to the herd and saw a small chestnut foal playing in the water. The foal’s dam didn’t seem to be too concerned, grazing on the bank as her foal was in water up to it’s chest and splashing around. 

  
  
The foal looked up and froze, staring at him and Geralt held still. Witcher Horses picked their riders, not the other way around. He had to wait until it approached him. The foal snorted and returned to pawing at the water, seemingly chasing something into the shallows, closer to him. Geralt sighed, and turned to leave but an angry squeal made him turn back. 

The foal was staring at him again and once it was sure his attention was captured, it returned to chasing its… prey. Geralt furrowed his brows and turned away, only to hear the angry squeal again. He faced the river again and the foal was clearly annoyed with him, staring at him, ears back. He could see now it was a little filly. She snorted then dropped her head and stomped at the water, chasing something towards the shallows and Geralt.

Finally she had it close enough that a flick of her hoof sent whatever she’d been chasing flying through the air to land at his feet. It was a roach, the common and distinctive fish that filled the river. He looked up and the little filly was out of the river, shaking herself off and she ambled over, shoving her face into his chest hard enough to nearly knock him over.

“Well, hello there! You seemed very interested in that fish.” 

  
  
The filly grunted and pawed at the gasping fish, then headbutted him again. “What? It’s just a roach.” The filly nickered and bobbed her head. “Roach? Is that your name?”

The filly danced around him, back feet kicking the air, and Geralt laughed, “Roach it is then! Come on, I’ll introduce you to Eskel, and his Scorpion, though you probably already know him.”

He started to leave, then stopped, bending down and picking up the roach fish on the shore and tossing it back into the river. He wrapped his arm around the filly’s neck, “Let’s go.”


End file.
